Lives We Can't Leave
by TongueTripper
Summary: [Logan, Kurt, Kitty, Warren, Bobby, StacyX + others] I intend for this to be a good X-men adventure. (Chap. 6! Sort of: It's a night on the town, and they're painting it red.)
1. Logan takes off

Disclaimer: [1] I do not own. [2] I have no money. The importance of these statements. I don't own X-men, marvel does see [1]. If I owned them I would be rich, see [2]. If I was rich, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, see [2], because I would buy the X-men, see [1].  
  
Author's Note: My artist's muse went AWOL, so I stole a writing muse. Sorry if it was yours. That also gives me a reason to suck at writing. Ha ha! I would love reviews! Even flames, but if you flame me please be specific. How else will I learn from my mistakes? Constructive critism is key.  
  
The muted picture drove the television's image in and out of reception, strewing eerie light on the faux white walls of the hotel room. Logan paced along the length of the double wide bed, dropping belongings into the leather duffel lying open on the mattress. At the moment, the only audible sound, was the distinct warbling of German hymns emanating from depths within the bathroom. Logan grunted, stepping over the comforter strewn on the ground from the night before. The remainder of the team were still lie their beds, leisurely allowing themselves the luxury to sleep in after their mission. They had all been to tired, too exhausted, to consider celebrating upon their return last night. Instead they turned to the comfort of warm beds and room service to comfort their aches. That indelibly meant that later they would have a night on the town. An evening of reckless fun in the midst of a life that would drive a hero to the brink of death, sometimes never returning. This was the unwritten tradition in the X-men books, sparing a few moments to revel in life and friendship when they found the time to do so.  
  
Logan took one last survey of the room, grunting to himself satisfactorily. He had managed to pack everything that he could think that he'd want into the overnighter. Not that he needed much, he was fine with the clothes off his back. No, he was packing for someone else. someone that he knew would want mementos, reminders of the family left behind. He headed into the narrow corridor that served as the entrance to the room, sliding the door back to the closet. His leather jacket hung unceremoniously on the twisted wire hanger. Not that he had been the one that had hung it up either, he grinned. Last night he had been drug back to the hotel, his healing factor too preoccupied at the moment to grant him consciousness. His attention was distracted from his thoughts by the noises coming from the bathroom door behind him. He slid the worn jacket on, fishing a cigar out the pocket and used a single unsheathed claw to slice the tip off. He slid the lighter out from another pocket. He used his a fist to knock on the door. The scrambling noises that followed suggested that Kurt was hurrying to finish up. Logan leaned against the wall and savored the smell for a moment.  
  
"Ja, Mien Fruend, a moment more. I doubt that you would want me to leave this blue fuzz in here for when you-"  
  
"It's alright, Elf." Logan interrupted. "I'm heading out. Have yourself a good time tonight."  
  
The silence that followed prompted Logan to make his move, he stepped out of the hall to grab the bag and slung it over his shoulder. His heavy boots thudded across the carpet and he opened the hotel room door, stepping out and closing it behind him.  
  
Kurt opened the bathroom door, his damp locks of hair matted to his forehead.  
  
"But Logan, I -"  
  
The faint click of the lock sliding back, was his only answer. He glanced around the empty room. He made his way out of the bathroom, water dripping from his toweled form. On the dresser he saw a pink carbon copy of a receipt, noting that the reservation for their room had been extended for another week. He also noticed that it had been charged for two occupants. Obviously this was Logan's way of indicating that he wanted Kurt to stay behind when the other's returned to the X-mansion the next day. He shrugged to himself; Logan had said nothing of these plans previously. Still, Kurt knew better than to worry about these questions. Not that Logan was the type to answer questions. 


	2. Philosophy 201

Disclaimer: [1] I do not own. [2] I have no money. The importance of these statements: I don't own X-men, marvel does, see [1]. If I owned them, them being the X- men, I would be rich, see [2]. If I was rich, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, see [2], because I would be able to buy the X-men, see [1].  
  
Author's Note(s): My artist's muse went AWOL, so I stole a writing muse. Sorry if it was yours. That also gives me a reason to suck at writing. Ha ha! I would love reviews! Even flames, but if you flame me please be specific. How else will I learn from my mistakes? Constructive critism is key. Archive to your hearts content, just e-mail me (tripping_tongue@yahoo.com) with the site so I can giggle over my growing poplularity. And one final note : Continuity-shontimuinity. I would sink this bugger somewhere in between Uncanny X-Men 110 and .  
  
The graying figure moved fluidly alongside the black board, the sharp sounds of the chalk against the cold stone accompanying him as he scribbled the assignment on the board. He paused as the buzzing of the end of period bell interupted his lecture once again.  
  
"-A two thousand word essay, please. And I expect those words to be in coherent sentences, people." Bodies began shifting listlessly, moving to mark down the assignment before taking off to their next class. In the center of a classroom, a young woman stared emptily at the words written on the board once more.  
  
"What is the key to obtaining wisdom?" She frowned and closed her philosophy book, sliding it into her carrier bag. If she knew the answer to that, she wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't have been dead. She grimaced at the irony.  
  
"Ms. Yashida." She glanced up, smiling warmly at her professor. He got up from his desk and walked towards her. "Is there anything the matter, dear? Usually my students fall over themselves trying to leave, but you've been sitting there in silence for about fifteen minutes. I hope that my discussion wasn't nearly that boring?"  
  
"No, not at all," she lied coaxingly as she slid out of her seat. "It's just that I, well-I get a little homesick every now and then." She reached down and slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder.  
  
"I see," he said skeptically, peering at her over his reading glass. "I suppose you would, it's a long ways from-"  
  
"Tokyo. in Japan." She supplied quickly, mentally kicking herself. She knew it hadn't have been the best choice to create a private identity, but calling on a few old friends, or friends of a certain friend, she had been able to create a false past and history that was airtight. One without connections to her real past, and to her that was of the upmost importance, even if her story was rather extraordinary. "It's just been a long adjustment, and having to move so far away from those closest to me has turned out to be a bigger challenge than I had anticipated."  
  
"Well, of course, dear, that's understandible. Perhaps it would be best to take a trip during these next few weeks of break. You're doing quite well in class, well enough so that I do believe that your grades in class wouldn't suffer if you didn't worry about any extra studying before finals over this break."  
  
She shrugged gently, and he continued. "My dear, you have to understand. There is more out there than these concrete walls. While you may think that you would prefer to be a fish and eat, sleep, and breathe college, you'll burn yourself out. Seeing your friends and family may be best thing for you. I'd hate to see such a remarkable young woman feel that she's all alone here."  
  
She looked into his well worn eyes and found the courage to smile back. "I understand, what you're saying. I'm just too busy at the moment to take the time right now. maybe over summer break." Her voice flooded back in defeat, and he frowned, knowing the door to her emotions had slammed shut. His eyes held her in an awkward gaze for a moment longer before she turned her head. "Well I should get going. I really appreciate your concern." She gave him a half-hearted shrug as she adjusted the weight of the bookbag over her shoulder, and headed to the door.  
  
"Remember, I'm here to talk to if you ever need an ear," he called out as she slipped through the doorway.  
  
Katherine.  
  
Katherine! Her heart pounded in her chest. Did he just call her Katherine as she walked out of the classroom. He couldn't have! Could he? Her mind raced through the possibilities. She hadn't told anyone her real name since she had arrived. She went through all the instances she could have accidentally revealed the truth. All of the work seemed for nothing. No, no, all the precautions she had taken, all the pains she had gone through. He must have said something else, although for the life of her, she couldn't come up with a plausible explanation. She pushed the nagging doubt to the back of her mind. If she didn't hurry she would be late for her next class, and there wasn't any question about that. She pushed her way through the steel and glass doors, and took off in a sprint across the campus lawn. 


	3. In the meantime

Disclaimer: [1] I do not own. [2] I have no money. The importance of these statements: I don't own X-men, marvel does, see [1]. If I owned them, them being the X- men, I would be rich, see [2]. If I was rich, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, see [2], because I would be able to buy the X-men, see [1].  
  
Author's Note(s): My artist's muse went AWOL, so I stole a writing muse. Sorry if it was yours. That also gives me a reason to suck at writing. Ha ha! I would love reviews! Even flames, but if you flame me please be specific. How else will I learn from my mistakes? Constructive critism is key. Archive to your hearts content, just e-mail me (tripping_tongue@yahoo.com) with the site so I can giggle over my growing poplularity. And one final note : Continuity-shontimuinity. I would sink this bugger somewhere in between X-Men 110 and Uncanny X-men 413 (Warren is still blue in my story). And there is a point/plot. I'm getting there, I promise!  
  
  
  
  
  
After Logan had left, Kurt had finished off the leftovers from the continental breakfast offered in the main foyer before slipping downstairs to the hotel lobby, from which he extradited a local map. He opted to spend the afternoon, wandering in and out of the small shops along the busy streets downtown. Bobby would most certainly be sleeping the remainder of the daylight hours away, and he presumed that Stacy would perfer to use this time to get to know Warren more intimately, and would perceive his continued presence as an annoyance.  
  
So he found himself taking in the sights, and enjoying the hustle and bustle of ordinary people living their ordinary lives. Ever since Xavier ousted himself as a mutant and revealing the nature of the institute, he found fewer occasions that required use for an image inducer. He still garnered confused and angry stares, but it was a respite from the threats and mobs that he had encountered back when the X-team was in it's youth.  
  
He began drifting towards the food district, his stomach rumbling against the cold bagel and orange juice that he had devoured earlier. The warm smells led him to a small café nestled among some open fruit markets. He entered, and found the dining area to be clean and well lit. He made his way to the counter, taking a seat with his back to the door, and the kitchen to his right. The waitress appeared, smiling readily, and he placed his order which she dutifully jotted down. She took his order to the cook, and they took to chatting politely as they waited for the cook. He found her questions curious, but not prying. He grinned and recounted a tale about a childhood adventure from his days in the circus. She chuckled good humoredly, pardoning herself when she left for the kitchen. She returned with his lunch, and he ate while tossing friendly conversation back and forth with her as she waited on other customers. Kurt began to relax, letting his defense ease.  
  
The door opened, sending a quick breeze into the café before it shut. Kurt grinned, barely registering the change as he took a sip from his coffee, and set the glass down. Suddenly, Kurt felt a shove in the back. His hands dodged out catching himself before he bumped his plate of food off of the counter. His glowing yellow eyes darted side to side, the café's patrons looking away from his gaze uncomfortably. He looked up over his shoulder as the man leered at him, seating himself down on the stool next to Kurt. Kurt nodded to him in acknowledgement, hoping that the guesture would acquiesce the man from further antagonizing the incident. The look in his eyes gave Kurt the impression that he shouldn't bother hold his breath. His assumption was rewarded as the man continued to spit out derrogatory comments while picking up Kurt's half finished coffee. Disregarding the jibes the man sent in his direction, he attempted to finish his sandwhich, taking another bite. Infuriated, the man dumped the cup of liquid onto Kurt's plate, dowsing the other half of the sandwhich and the fries with it, the hot liquid splashing towards the blue furred mutant. From the back of the restaurant, everyone had stopped eating, watching the confrontation in horror. The waitress' jaw dropped as she came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of food. With a heavy sigh, he dabbed at his coffee dampened shirt, the man watching him with a satisfied smirk. Without bothering to make eye contact, Kurt removed his wallet from his pocket, and with wet fingers dropped a twenty down next to the mess. He took a dry napkin from the canister holder and exited the café. He walked down the street, praying for strength and patience. By the time he had reached the end of the block, he could hear a scuffle behind him. He glanced over to see the cook roughly shoving the man out of the small shop, the waitress yelling angry indignations from the safety of the doorway.  
  
Kurt kept his head down, not slowing in his step. He knew that the man would be sore for that humiliation, and he should attempt to get out of sight for a bit. He looked up and saw a marquee for the local independent art house. He shuffled away from a passerby and ducked into the old theatre building. It was dark inside, his eyes adjusted quickly and the faint glow grew as he moved along the shadows. He walked past glassed in displays of past performances: cast pictures, program sheets, dog-eared scripts, and newspaper reviews. After a moment, he moved on, stepping out into the small auditorium. The floor extended out to a veranda that rimmed the theatre. Small tables in booths lined the terrace, tucked away to overlook the stage. Behind him to his left was a stairwell, most likely leading to the auditorium seating below. He headed off to one of the wings, slipping into an empty booth, the dim lighting allowing him to blend into the shadows. He slid his chair, shifting it so that he could overlook the stage. Below a gentleman nervously croaked out verses of poetry, and a small group of supporters shouted encouragement.  
  
"Excuse me." A voice startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to regard the blonde woman that stood waiting for his response. The dimlight shone down on her features, and Kurt guessed that she was not yet in her twenties.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you," he grinned and shrugged holding his palms up in a unassuming guesture.  
  
"Did ya want anything from the bar? We've got soda, coffee, tea, water, beer."  
  
"A beer would be fine, fraulein."  
  
"Sure. Whatever." She jotted a note down on the pad she was carrying, and headed to the next booth. Kurt redirected his attention back to the performances below. The poet had been replaced by a olderman, who was seated at an stool. He had readjusted the mike, and was in the process of removing a worn, antique violin from a battered gray case. He placed the instrument in the base between his chin and chest, and smooth falcetto of violin notes began to fill the auditorium. After a slow warm up scale, he began a moody overture, starting slow and heavy, picking up power and momentum has he moved through the music. Kurt leaned against the banister railing, propping his head on his arm as he listened. The concentration on the music, allowed his ears to pick up footfalls of someone approaching his booth. There was a pause, then figure slid into the booth across from him, entering his periphal vision. Nothing was said until the heavy seconds after the violinist had finished passed.  
  
"He has quite a talent."  
  
"Some would call it a gift, Warren. We all have gifts." He turned in his seat, ignoring the comedy act that was setting up the stage. He faced the man across from him, giving him a questioning glance. Warren fought against the cold stare, motioning with hands.  
  
"She went out shopping. I doubt she ever really had the opportunity to purchase from designer stores in the past."  
  
Kurt nodded in understandment. "And you?"  
  
"Well." Warren juggled with the thought of being coy, but he thought that an upfront approach was warranted at the moment. "I heard that you and Logan are staying behind when we take off tomorrow. Niether of you mentioned anything previously, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."  
  
"Telepath? Jean. Or Emma?"  
  
"Actually, no." Warren chuckled. "Bell hop. Apparently Wolverine had left quite an impression heading out the door this morning."  
  
"It figures. He wasn't exactly a morning person today. I doubt that there's anything to worry about. Logan has something up his sleeve, but he's not bothering to let me in on it either. I trust him, so doubt that there should be any trouble while we are out."  
  
"I didn't mean to come across like that. You don't need me to hold your hand even if I am leader of this team. Take whatever time you'll need. When your ready, let us know if you need our help with anything, even if it's a flight back to the U.S."  
  
Kurt smiled, his fangs glinting. "You're right, I'm being difficult, nein?" He nodded as the young woman came back with the cold bottle, he motioned to Warren. The girl's eyes widened, but she nodded and took off to bring a second drink for his companion. "Has Bobby wakened to give us his input on where to go tonight?"  
  
"Well, actually, since you bring it up." 


	4. Things stay the same

Disclaimer: [1] I do not own. [2] I have no money. The importance of these statements: I don't own X-men, marvel does, see [1]. If I owned them, them being the X- men, I would be rich, see [2]. If I was rich, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, see [2], because I would be able to buy the X-men, see [1].  
  
Author's Note(s): My artist's muse went AWOL, so I stole a writing muse. Sorry if it was yours. That also gives me a reason to suck at writing. Ha ha! I would love reviews! Even flames, but if you flame me please be specific. How else will I learn from my mistakes? Constructive criticism is key. Archive to your hearts content, just e-mail me (tripping_tongue@yahoo.com) with the site so I can giggle over my growing popularity. And one final note : Continuity-shontimuinity. I would sink this bugger somewhere in between X-Men 110 and Uncanny X-men 413 (Warren is still blue in my story). And there is a point/plot. I'm getting there, I promise!  
  
  
  
The heavy pounding on the door jarred her from her thoughts. She swiveled away from the computer, rising from the chair to make her way across the room. She began to undo the locks, her mind slipping instinctually upon years of drilled training, the muscles in her body tensing in anticipation of a possible attack. She paused a moment before continuing consciously dragging herself from snapping into a defensive stance. She was safe here, she reminded herself, in this pseudo-normal life she had fabricated. The biggest threats that she faced were the inconsequential traffic jam and crashed hard drive. Still, she knew better than to take chances. She cracked the door open, pulling the chain link lock taut. " Can I help you?" She managed to eek out unsuspectingly before catching a glimpse of the figure standing in the doorway. Her face then lit up with an almost abashed smile, and she chuckled giddishly. "Ohmygosh! Logan!"  
  
"Kit, there ain't a man alive that can't be helped a bit by that smile."  
  
"It good for what ails you, I've been told." She raised her hand to the chain lock, phasing the metal barrier and pulling the door wider. She jumped at him, catching him in an opened arm embrace. "And what charmer have you hanging around that you've been picking up those bad habits." She released him, stepping back to stand at arms length to get a good look.  
  
"I ain't picking up anything of the sort. This is my own classy he stuff." He grinned appreciatively, noting the changes since he last saw her. She, at the very least, looked healthy, if a bit tired, which he was pleased to find.  
  
"So what brings you out here then?" She smiled back, and then gasped. "Oh I'm so sorry, I'm being such a horrible host. Come on in, stay for a bit, and tell me how everyone's been." She ducked back into the room, opening the door for him as she let him into the small apartment.  
  
The furniture was minimal and served nothing more than practical use. There seemed to be no scheme of design or thought put into decorating. The barely present signs of existence were not promising. Logan had to take a second survey of the room to make sure he hadn't noticed and oversight. Had she been packing, planning on a trip? He couldn't find anything to suggest that idea, no luggage, no signs of cleaning out the fridge. She dodged his looks and moved a basket of neatly folded sweatshirts off of the loveseat, and she grinned at him.  
  
"Well, geez, I wasn't expecting visitors."  
  
Logan grunted, "let alone another living breathing person."  
  
"That obvious, hunh?"  
  
He moved aside a stack of textbooks on what she seemed to regard as a coffee table, before seating himself. Plywood stacked on milk crates didn't constitute as furniture in his opinion. "Just a little."  
  
She cringed. "I guess I deserve that judgment. I've just been so busy lately, it's hard to get out there and do the social thing."  
  
He snorted. The distinct lack of another scent lingering in the room gave testimony to that. Part of him was secretly glad, not wanting to tread into the realm of relationship ups and downs with the young woman. Still, closing herself off to everyone wasn't the answer she was looking for.  
  
She began to fidget underneath is stare, and she started to panic. He could always see through her like glass.  
  
"Well, like I said, sorry about the whole mess. It's just that roommate left to go home for break a few days ago, and well, I-" She fumbled around with some cd cases on her computer desk, straightening them into a neat stack. Just don't make eye contact.  
  
"Kit, you never were good at lying, don't you think you're a little old to try and learn that trick? There hasn't been another person in this room for over a month." He stood up, his boots falling heavily as he made his way to the door. She continued to play with the cases, unable to look up. "Obviously, it was a waste of my time to drive out here if you don't want to talk. So unless you've got something to say for yourself, I might as well head back in time for the elf and I to catch a ride home." He reached for he doorknob, as he heard her hesitate. He fought the urge to turn around and look at her. She would be caught there in a moment of indecision, biting her lip. Her mouth would open and no words would make their way out. The silence hung for a few more solemn seconds, then he turned the doorknob.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
She stepped away from the desk, closing the distance between them. He remained still, his back to her, trying to conceal the smirk that crossed his face. "Wait, Kurt's here?" He couldn't help it, a ruthless grin broke out. Some things never changed. At least the important things never did. He managed to compose himself as he turned and leveled a cold glare at her.  
  
"Okay, fine, you're right. My roomie baled out just before midterms. And I didn't feel like having somebody move in. And I have been drowning myself in schoolwork for the last few months. There are you happy?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin lifting in defiance.  
  
"Thrilled. Get a coat, darling, we need to get you out of this hole." She spun on her heel, storming to the closet, muttering phrases that made Logan grin. Things don't change at all. She pulled out an scrap of trench coat that had seen better days, and he raised a skeptical brow.  
  
"What?" She shot back. "I happen to like it. It hold's sentimental value."  
  
He glared at her. "Time to go. I need to teach you had to share your feelings ---Canadian style." 


	5. G'Mornings in the Afternoon

DISCLAIMER: [1] I do not own. [2] I have no money. The importance of these statements : Oh who am I kidding? Obviously, I am just a poor humble fan who finds solace in writing fanfiction. You all out there can relate, right? So don't go and rain on my parade by reminding me.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: *eyes glaze over* I have the best reviewers in the world! Thank you and Kudos go to VladimirsAngel and lilWolvie who continue to inspire and have been with me on this story from the beginning. I love your works! Special thanks for the lovely review from Katzchen. I hope to read some of your work soon too. Look for my reviews!  
  
Again I must apologize to any of my readers for my absence and failure to update in a timely matter. I hope I can make it up to you with the next few chapters. Please read, review, criticize and suggest. It keeps me motivated! On with the story!  
  
  
  
Moist fabric smothered Bobby Drake's breath, forcing him awake to gasp for air. He kept his eyes closed, hiding from the harsh artificial light in the room as he turned back to the wet softness beneath him. However hard his body might try, his brain was intimately aware that the one Bobby Drake, Iceman, was no longer blissfully slumbering. Furthermore, his senses told him that he wasn't alone, as he picked up the muffled sounds of Warren through the thick blankets.  
  
Try harder, he told himself.  
  
"Gah!" With an exasperated moan, he flung the pillow across the room roughly in the vicinity of Warren's voice.  
  
". look that's fine. I expect you to fax a copy of the bid to my office tonight. Sit on it and tell them that we'll send them a counter offer tomorrow morning.In the meantime, forward the numbers to financial, and we'll see what they can come up with by then. that sounds fine. go ahead with that."  
  
Warren ended the call, watching the pillow as it arced effortlessly through the air over his shoulder and landed three feet from his chair. He rested the phone on his thigh as he watched Bobby's from shift relentlessly in the burrow of blankets. Dead silence hung for the next few moments, broken by a plaintive plea.  
  
"It's not fair!"  
  
Warren fought the urge to roll his eyes and settled a drawn out sigh before standing up from the plush arm chair. He made his to the foot of the bead and gripped the bottom edge of the comforter. In a swift motion, he yanked the blanket off, his wings shifting and bringing forth a gust of air to torment the prone figure of Bobby as he clutched blindly for the blanket.  
  
"What do you think you're doing!?" His arms grasped at the empty air in vain.  
  
"The world isn't fair. And it won't make any exception for you. You're not going to be able to get back to sleep. Isn't it enough that you just let it go?" Warren doubled the comforter over, neatly folding it in his arms."  
  
"But I do *believe*. And Santa *is* real!"  
  
"Very funny."  
  
"I've achieved my goal for the day. Who needs to get up now."  
  
"Robert, that's not what I--"  
  
"You would so not believe the stores! It's like Fifth Avenue. well, not really." Stacy tore into the room, juggling several large bags.  
  
Bobby's draw dropped at the shear amount of purchases she clearly made. Warren, too, was taken back in surprise, but did not permit himself to express it openly. He did, after all, lend her his credit cards on good faith. Perhaps, he should have stressed moderation a little more clearly. Bobby seized the moment of distraction, grasping the blanket from Warren's hands. He stumbled to his feet and leapt to the other bed, the blanket clearly being held hostage.  
  
"The stores were huge Warren!" Stacy's face lit up. "Some of the prices seemed so unreal, but the quality is fantastic. We're talking good stuff here. They don't hold out on you with the fabric or anything. And having all those salespeople follow you around. I felt like they thought I was gonna lift something, you know." She began to unload the packages on the newly vacated bed. "But, then they were so nice. Weird nice. Attack of the zombies nice." She lowered her voice and narrowed her eyes," I think they can smell money." She retrieved a brilliant yellow shirt from one of the bags, black flame details along the bottom accented the contrast. "That's okay. Because I got this for you to wear tonight. I mean, black is great, but not a 'you' kind of color. Now something like this'll make you really stand out in a crowd." A look of disbelief managed to make itself apparent on Warren's face.  
  
Bobby dropped his confiscated blanket to clutch his stomach in silent laughter. "Oh man, not like wings and blue skin are enough!"  
  
Warren sent an icy glare in his direction, that caused even the once dubbed Popsicle to shiver. "Stacy, that's really thoughtful of you," He struggled with the words. "But it wasn't truly necessary--"  
  
"Oh don't think twice about it. I mean, it's my way of giving back to the team and all. I mean, no offense and all, but this teams seriously lacks fashion conscientiousness." At this point, Bobby was lost in his internal struggle, as he sat on the headboard, wiping tears from his eyes.  
  
"That's why I got something for everyone to wear tonight."  
  
Bobby's laughing turned into a racking cough. He gasped for air.  
  
"Now that's *not* funny!"  
  
Warren smiled. 


	6. Painting the Town Red Part 1

Disclaimer:  
  
I own a piece of broccoli. That's it. So if you sue, that's all you get.  
  
Author's Note:  
  
I'm so sorry about not posting sooner. PLEASE don't tell Santa that I've been bad. Well this is my Holiday gift to all of you, another chapter. Again, I'm sorry. And I want everyone to know that I had only planned on having the Uncanny X-team make one appearance. Obviously, it's taken on a life of it's own in this story. ~hee hee~ So please bear with me, I'm doing my best to do these other characters just, although ~Feh~ I am not. Let me know if I wander ooc with them, or if you have any tips or suggestions. Oh and I asked Santa for reviews. . . so uh, just remember . . . I still believe!  
  
P.S. If anyone is interested in having me do any artwork to illustrate this story, let me know. And the first person to e-mail on the easiest way to get the bold and italics to work, I'll put whatever they want to see in the story.  
  
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Bobby craned his neck back to look at the enormous man towering above him. In most respects this seemed vaguely familiar, and he wondered to himself, italics Why do I always end up as the human punching bag whenever I'm with X-men? He grinned letting it stretch across his face as he brought his hands up innocently. "Oh hey, yeah, sorry bout that, I got a little carried away. But it's okay. Ice melts." The man was silent, and Bobby's instincts started flaring. Spider-sense tingling! He mused to himself. Onlookers began to move away in apprehension. The bouncer stood stoic still, staring the young man down.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, the inactivity caught Stacy's attention. She stopped her dancing, and her eyes widened. "Oh no!" She forced past the couples and crowds, bumping and jostling bodies out of her way as she cut across the dance floor. Several people yelled after her, and she muttered incoherent apologies as an afterthought to the curses from angered dancers. She made a turn to where Warren and Kurt where standing against the wall, grabbing Warren's wing to tug on it.  
  
"Whoa, Stacy." Warren was taken by surprise. His body turned awkwardly at her insistent tugging, causing him to spill some of his drink. He held it out away from him as it spilled carelessly on the ground. He studied her face and the look of anxiety crinkled into lines of frustration on her forehead. "What's going on," he yelled, calling out over the pounding music.  
  
"It's Bobby!" She fired back. Even as she yelled, Warren had to strain to hear her over the noise. She flailed her arm, motioning wildly to the corner over by the door. His instantly caught the strange activity, finding two figures struggling in the midst of the crowd. Something oddly familiar caused him to take a second glance. Warren squinted, peering past the pulsating lights and strobes to see Bobby desperately trying to free himself from the grip of an enormous man as he was drug towards the door.  
  
"Mein gott!" Kurt exclaimed.  
  
Bobby didn't notice his friends realization, however, having other things preoccupying him at the moment. The behemoth of a bouncer had hoisted him off the ground by the collar, and carrying him bodily towards the door. His arguments had died off and he squirmed wildly, not for the sake of getting free, but in response to the fact that iron grip the man had on his shirt was cutting off his breathing. His vision began to blur and swim and a cynical part of his brain taunted him. Thousands upon thousands of battles with the world's deadliest killers, who's sincere goals was to see him dead one way or another, and here he was suffocating to death at the hands of a mere bouncer. He was utterly mortified. The next thing he was aware of was the sensation of his body being flung through the air. He peered through clouded lids, and was able to make out wet pavement just before he met it, with crunching accuracy. Ice slide! His brain hissed, once again pitching the brilliant ideas when it was too little, too late. He shook his head to regain his bearings, and propped himself up as the door opened again.  
  
"Oh, god, no," He closed his eyes, severely wondering if the man had changed his mind and was coming back to finish the task. When he didn't feel the death grip return, he carefully opened one eye. He saw Kurt's blue hand in front of him, and he took it, getting to his feet.  
  
"New tactic, nein?" He grinned, the white fangs a stark contrast to the dark fur. He smiled, as regained his composure.  
  
"Throws them off guard," he grimaced and rubbed his jaw. It felt swollen, and he presumed there would be bruising in the next few days.  
  
Stacy walked over to Bobby, and grinned on him. She reached over slugged him in the shoulder, positioning her hands back on her hips. "Didn't know you had it in you, Frost Boy."  
  
He rolled his eyes, and Warren sighed. "Just trying to do my part to promote mutant - human relations."  
  
"How? By suggesting that we're idiots?" Warren frowned.  
  
"Oh come on, it's not that bad! I mean I thought for sure that they would've kicked us out for these outfits." He raised an eyebrow at Kurt's get up, having been the only one in the group that had actually been enthusiastic about the items Stacy had picked out for him. He was sure that he would have Emma do a physic analysis on that one when they got back. He leveled an accusing finger at Stacy, but she dismissed it. She batted it away.  
  
"Sure thing. Next time we go, we'll just bring the X-Zamboni as a get away vehicle."  
  
"Har, har, har. So what now, ice princess?"  
  
"Let's not argue about this. Perhaps that bar down the street would be suitable to everyone's taste." The group turned to where Kurt was pointing. A large banner hung inscribed "Karaoke Night" hung above the dim neon sign.  
  
Stacy shrugged and started walking towards the building. Kurt followed, and Bobby removed a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. He grinned as he strutted past Warren, humming the theme to Miami Vice.  
  
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That's part one. This chapter section will have three parts I think. I just wanted get this part up now. Review and let me know what you think. 


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